


(Brother, Let Me Be Your) Shelter

by stardustandswimmingpools



Series: pietro lives 'verse [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anti-Freud, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bonding, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton's second son, F/M, Family Feels, Freud Haters Only, Gen, Gosh Where Could He Be????, Light Angst, Male Friendship, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Protective Clint Barton, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, brief mentions of bruce banner - Freeform, it's not really relevant here but it's just the canon, physical labor, sappy dad Clint Barton, somehow this barn thing turned into a Thing, who is Still Missing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-24 14:47:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20707769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustandswimmingpools/pseuds/stardustandswimmingpools
Summary: Steve learns how to paint a barn, and how to open up.





	(Brother, Let Me Be Your) Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> apparently this has something that vaguely resembles, if not a plot, then at least a relative plotline? a linking thread?? who knows. anyway, here i am again with another installment in "clint barton feat. every avenger, one by one" because i love that bitch so much.  
the title is from Brother by NEEDTOBREATHE and i'm not gonna lie to you, it's because my acappella group is singing it so the song is stuck in my head. but also that title just works so well. brotherly vibes? shelter like the barn?? we love a layered metaphor. and the song is amazing. i highly recommend it. [here's a link.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=61Wm_qlVD4Q)  
anyway i hope you all enjoy, lemme know what you think!

Someone knocks on the door. Clint groans, tilts his head back for ten seconds to mourn the fact that he'd _ just _sat down, and then unnecessarily calls out, “I got it.”

“You better,” he hears dimly from upstairs. “Unless _ you _ want to breastfeed Nathaniel.”

Clint does not. 

It's probably a Starkdroid at the door, alerting them to their groceries. Stark had set it up as a complimentary service for his high-speed internet (_"Think of it as a really big, electronically powered thank-you note.” _). Once or twice a week they order groceries online and give the store one of three addresses, a few miles away. There's a Starkdroid at each one, and when the delivery drops off their order, the automatons gather up the bags and boxes and fly them to the Barton Barn. (Clint keeps pressing Laura to call it the Barnton, but she's a stubborn woman.) Little though Clint likes admitting he needs help, it's a much easier method for shaking hypothetical tails than whatever they'd been doing before.

He pauses at the door, almost reaching for the bow on the table, but stops himself. Paranoia is good in the spy world — learning to trust nothing was one of the first lessons Clint had learned. But it doesn't do him any good here in the real world. If he shoots another Starkdroid, Tony’s gonna be pissed. He forgoes the bow and reaches for the doorknob. 

Doesn't even check through the peephole. That's how good he’s getting at this whole domestic-life thing.

Maybe he should've listened for the rhythmic whirring of the Starkdroid. Maybe he should've asked who was at the door. Maybe he should have taken up the bow and arrow. None of this forgives what he can't help but feel, in retrospect, had been reckless behavior. Not checking the peephole? Rookie mistake. What had he been thinking? Furthermore — 

“Well, well, well, if it isn't Captain America himself,” Clint says, cutting off that train of thought before it spirals.

“Thought I'd pay a visit,” the Captain says, shrugging, smiling. 

Clint laughs dryly. “You Avengers sure like jogging my sense of paranoia. Nat teach you that trick?”

“Watch it, young man,” Steve says. “I invented the element of surprise.”

“I thought you said I was old?”

“Continuity errors are so far from the point.”

Once more Clint laughs. “Alright, bring it in, pal.” 

Steve gives him a strong, fleeting hug, claps him on the back while Clint bravely does not flinch, and then glances around. “You're looking good. So’s your house.”

“Well, I couldn't really tidy up, considering I didn't expect guests.” Clint steps back and Steve lets himself in, thoughtfully taking in the sight of the house. "Although I'm glad you're here. I could use your help with something." He smiles despite himself. "It's good to see you, Steve."

Steve matches the expression. "Feeling's mutual."

"Well, come on," Clint says. "Don't just stand there. Lots of work to do."

* * *

"I gotta admit, I was wondering last time we were here what you were planning to do with this," Steve says, hands hitched iconically on his belt.

"It's an eyesore," Clint agrees. "The twins helped me clear out some of the crap inside when they were here for Hanukkah —"

"You celebrate Hanukkah?" Steve says, furrowing his brow.

Clint shrugs. "I do now, I guess."

Steve glances down; for just a split second, Clint sees vulnerability. Then it's gone. Clint wonders about that. He decides to file it away. Maybe Steve has a weird memory about Hanukkah? Maybe he, like Nat, has been a secret Jew this whole time? It would make sense; Steve fought in World War 2, for Christ's sake. If ever there was a time to hide one's Judaism...

Clint is overthinking it. And Steve is already stepping forward, boots crushing the grass as he approaches the barn. "So what are you thinking now?"

"Paint?" Clint suggests. "I can't decide if it's better to work outside-in or inside-out, but I figure it can't hurt to make it look nice before it _ is _ nice."

"Seems logical," Steve says. "What's the endgame?"

"Guest bedroom," Clint says. "Twins' idea. Speaking of which, how long are you staying?"

Steve does a slow 360. Clint watches his eyes, how they travel over every corner and shadow, every blade of grass. Steve is observant. He's often underestimated in that respect.

Clint knows a little bit about being underestimated. He'll have to keep that in mind.

Finally, Steve shrugs. "Maybe just a night," he says. "If you're offering. It's kind of intoxicating, the…" he gestures.

Clint gets it. It's one of the many reasons he loves his farm. "Yeah. It's peaceful."

Steve nods, then sets his jaw. "We all have our work cut out for us, I guess."

Some harder than others. Clint gets to play house. Steve doesn't have that luxury. Clint feels a little badly. He wonders: when was the last time Steve had someplace to call home?

It's not like Clint feels some irrational urge to adopt all of the Avengers into his family. It's _ not. _ It's just that while the Captain is chronologically older, Clint is still biologically his senior, by over a decade. It's almost embarrassing to think about. But it does mean that Clint feels a modicum — just a pinch — of responsibility for the man before him. 

Steve Rogers is in his 20s, for fuck's sake. Most people at that age are getting a college degree, finding an apartment, waiting tables. Steve is saving the goddamn world.

The least he deserves is a family to come home to — one who doesn't care if he wins or loses. And that's all Clint has, at the end of the day. 

"For what it's worth," he says coolly, "you can stay as long as you like. Cooper would love it if you moved in permanently, I'm sure."

"Just Cooper?"

"Well, Laura's favorite Avenger is Thor."

"Whose isn't?"

Clint laughs. "Alright, Captain. Lunch first. Work later. That's the saying, right?"

Steve laughs, this time, and follows him back into the house.

* * *

Laura greets Steve with an affectionate hug, and Steve seems almost taken by surprise at the gesture. Then Lila gives him a handshake, and Steve is definitely amused by that. 

"I'm not sure we formally met," he tells her. "I'm Steve Rogers."

"I know," Lila says. "Captain America."

Steve smiles. "You can call me Steve."

"I'm Lila Barton," Lila says proudly. "Future Hawkeye."

"Really!" Steve says, turning to look at Clint in delighted awe. Which, _ okay. _ Clint may be getting on in years, but come on. He's not planning on _ dying. _ He's teaching Lila for fun, not for insurance.

Clint walks over to Lila and tucks his hands under her armpits. "You want me to be unemployed, is that it?" he teases, hoisting her up easily onto his shoulder.

"No!" Lila giggles. "Daddy, put me down!"

"I don't think so, you little traitor," Clint says.

"Daddy!"

"I'm Cooper," Cooper says seriously, and then he, too, holds out a hand to shake.

Steve kneels down. "Hi, Cooper. I'm Steve."

"I _ know _," Cooper says. His eyes are the size of tractor tires. "I remember you. You're on the TV a lot."

Steve chuckles. "I am."

"You're so cool," Cooper enthuses. "Your shield is _ awesome. _ You're all like — _ pew pew! _Take that, bad guys! Hyah!" He mimes throwing the shield.

Steve says, "Maybe later I can teach you to throw it," and Cooper looks like he's going to implode.

"Turning all our kids into superheroes?" Laura says lightly.

Steve stands up and blushes. "No, sorry, ma'am."

"Oh, please." Laura swats his shoulder. "I'm joking. And call me Laura. I'm only 43."

Steve looks like he has a mild case of whiplash. 

"Steve offered to help with lunch," Clint jumps in. Immediately, Steve is back in Good Captain mode.

"Right, what can I do?"

"Help me and Lila with the salad!" Cooper yells eagerly. Steve flinches at the sudden noise.

"Cooper, inside voices," Clint says.

"Hey, where's the baby?" Steve asks.

Laura side-eyes Cooper. "Well, he was napping," she says dryly, "but I doubt he is anymore. Clint, honey, would you get the pasta started? I'm gonna go check on him."

"No problem," Clint says, rubbing her shoulder as she passes. To Steve: "Laura doesn't trust me with anything more complex than literally boiling water."

"Steeeeeeeeeve," Cooper whines. "Are you gonna help us or noooooot?"

"Cooper, stop! You're being annoying," Lila admonishes. She looks politely up at Steve. "Will you please help us?"

Steve glances at Clint, who smiles encouragingly. He nods at the kids. "Sure, absolutely. You're the boss."

"I'm the boss!" Cooper announces.

"He was talking about me, stupid!"

"No name-calling," Clint says. Steve looks distressed. "He was talking about both of you goofballs. You're co-bosses. You both get to order him around. Come on, hop to it." 

Steve has the nerve to grin at that, broadly.

* * *

The cooking goes quickly with Steve helping out, and Cooper and Lila assault him with questions at every possible moment. Clint, focused intently on boiling the water for the pasta, feels like he's listening to the verbal equivalent of a two-versus-one tennis match.

"Where'd you get your shield?"

"A friend made it for me."

"What's it made of?"

"Vibranium."

"What's that?"

"Very powerful metal. It absorbs vibrations."

"Cool!"

"Pretty cool. Pass me that tomato, Lila?"

"Here you go! Hey, if you could have the superpowers of any other Avenger which one would you want?"

"Yeah," Clint echoes innocently, "which one, Cap?"

Steve half-smiles. "I always wished I was better at science," he admits. "My friend was always more of a science fan than I was. So probably Dr. Banner. What about you?"

"Thor!" Cooper enthuses. "His hammer is so cool! And he can call down lightning and stuff!"

"I wanna be like Daddy," Lila proudly declares. Clint feels the blush stretch from his hairline to his fingertips. He almost tears up, and deliberately keeps his back turned, eyes trained on the pot of water.

Steve's voice is full of something warm. "That's a great thing to be, kid. Your dad's one of the bravest men I know."

"Oh, stop," Clint says. He can't help himself; he turns around and sweeps Lila into a hug, kissing her cheek loudly and obnoxiously. "You're gonna be Hawkeye 2.0. New and improved."

"Can I be Captain America 2.0?" Cooper inquires.

"Hmm," Clint says. "You _ did _say you'd want to be Thor. I'm not sure Steve would settle for second-best."

"I changed my mind! I want to be like Captain America!"

Clint glances at Steve as he releases Lila from the hug. "You want to know a secret, Coop?" he says conspiratorially. "The only thing Captain America has that Steve Rogers doesn't is a fancy shield. All of the good, captain-y, morally upright stuff? That's pure Steve. You're already Captain America, in every way that counts, kiddo."

This time Steve looks like he's going to tear up. "Is this a competition for who can be the most flattering?" he says. "I think you're winning."

"How do you think I won Laura over?" Clint jokes. 

"I want the shield too, though," Cooper says, looking concerned.

"Get a trash can lid," Steve suggests. "That's what I did, back in the 40s."

And they're back to the interrogation. Clint returns to the pot of water, which is nearly boiling.

"So how old _ are _you?" Lila asks.

"97 going on 28."

"Daddy is almost 45. He's…" Lila scrunches up her nose. "Almost two times your age."

"Believe me, I know."

"Hey!" Clint protests.

"So what do you guys like to do?" Steve asks. 

Cooper jumps in: "I like to help mommy in the garden, especially with Nate. Sometimes I get to feed him. And I like playing frisbee."

"Funny," Steve says. "I'm good at frisbee."

Yeah, no shit.

"Daddy's teaching me to shoot," Lila says. "Arrows. Not guns. He says we can't have guns because we might set them off by accident —"

"Which we _ so _won't!" Cooper interrupts. Clint tucks in his chin so they won't see him smiling, despite the subject. There's no way in hell he's ever giving his children automatic weaponry. 

" — even though mommy and daddy both get to have guns. But Auntie Nat says we should always be able to protect ourselves so daddy is teaching me." Lila takes a breath. "Also I like to read. Auntie Nat always brings me books or recommends stuff. Have you heard of the _ Mysterious Benedict Society _?"

Clint is positive the answer is no. He's also pretty sure Steve is going to break his neck from all the conversational whiplash. Sure enough:

"Um — no, sorry. What's it about?"

"These four kids form an undercover spy group! Well, kind of. They're all special. Reynie is super clever and observant and stuff, and Sticky has a perfect memory, and Kate is really, um, resourceful and flexible, and Constance can read minds kind of."

"Sounds pretty good."

"It _ is _!"

"Hey, I like to read too!" Cooper interjects. "I just read the, uhh, a book about a museum...The Files of Mrs. Frankwhiner?"

"_ The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler _," Clint supplies. Steve is beginning to look desperate for a lifeline from the baffling waters of conversing with children, so Clint says, "Why don't you guys go set the table? Steve and I will finish making lunch."

Cooper and Lila agree to these terms, which works out alright, because they hadn't really been helping anyway, just chattering. Steve looks mildly relieved as the two of them scamper out of the kitchen to grab plates from the breakfront in the dining room.

"They're an enthusiastic pair," Clint says.

"They're great," Steve says honestly. "I'm not used to having kids around, that's all. Really, Clint. This is...I'm happy for you."

Clint smiles and pours the pasta into the boiling water. "Thanks. So what's new? How's the team?"

"Doing well," Steve says. "The twins are really strong, and they're starting to get really good at teamwork. And everyone is really good, all things considered."

"And you?"

Steve shrugs. "Doing what I'm best at. Giving orders." He chuckles, self-aware.

Clint snorts. "Funny, you're shit at following them." He glances back at Steve, who's slicing up a cucumber. "Are you happy?"

Steve takes a moment before replying. "Yes," he says slowly, as if even he's surprised by the answer. "It took...awhile, getting used to...the 21st century. Everything is faster, bigger...you know." He gestures ambiguously with the knife, then shrugs again. "But I think I'm getting it. Sam and I get coffee every week at a different place. He's determined to introduce me to every coffee shop in New York City, I think. And Natasha is great." He huffs. "I'm sure you know that."

"Better than most," Clint agrees. "Nat's pretty good with culture shock."

"Yeah. But I'm okay. Really."

Clint smiles to himself. "I know you are." He allows himself a moment in this comfortable lull before asking the question he already knows the answer to: "Any word on Banner?"

Steve sighs. "If there is, you'll know," he says. "He and Thor have both disappeared. We're assuming Thor is on Asgard, and it's not like we can reach him." His tone turns wry. "Last time I asked, he told me to send a raven. I think he was serious."

"Maybe you should try it."

"Right. We'll call that plan C. Anyway, we can't for the life of us figure out where Banner is. It seems like he just...fell off the face of the Earth."

"Aw, Cap, you know they proved awhile ago that the Earth isn't actually flat."

Steve elbows his back. "We're all keeping our eyes and ears open, but at this point it's more for the sake of covering bases. I...I'm not sure anyone expects to find him."

"Do you?"

Steve heaves another deep sigh. "Well, it took them 70 years to find me," he says.

Fair enough. 

"Technology's improving," Clint says. "Maybe this time it'll only take 35."

It's a scary thought. But neither of them, Clint knows, want to face the idea that Banner has permanently vanished. 

"Anyway," Clint says brusquely. "I want to ask you something."

"Sure."

"Your friend, the one who was into science...that was Sergeant Barnes?"

He knows it's a sore point, but he also knows better than most how much worse it is to keep that stuff tightly coiled inside your chest, postponing the moment it will inevitably spring open and break through your ribcage, exposing your heart for all to see.

Better to work through it.

He turns around, still lazily stirring the pasta. Steve's shoulders sag slightly. His hand twitches on the knife. "Yeah," he says quietly.

Clint nods and joins him at the island. He puts a hand on Steve's back, over his shoulder blades. He's not really sure what to say, except he knows what it's like to lose a best friend. Phil Coulson flashes unbidden in his mind.

"Follow-up," he says. "Are you in therapy?"

Steve's laugh is throaty and humorless. "Fury tried to insist, but he should know better." He shakes his head. "I'm not the type to sit on a couch and free associate."

"Psychology's come a long way," Clint says. "Trust me, every psychologist who cares about science at all hates Freud. And you should go to therapy. It's good for the soul."

Steve tenses. "I don't think so."

"Cap. I can literally feel your angst."

"I go to the VA sometimes," Steve says.

Okay, well, that's a start. Clint steals a slice of cucumber from the cutting board. Steve shoots him a look.

"I don't want to tell you what to do," Clint says. "But as Lila very cleverly observed, I am 17 years older than you. If nothing else, I'm a very good listener." He grins at that and taps his hearing aids. "Generally."

Steve quirks his lips in what might be halfway to a smile. "Hm."

"All I'm saying is, if you need someone to talk to and you don't trust therapy…" he claps Steve on the back. "I'm your guy. Got no problems of my own out here. May as well help shoulder someone else's."

Steve nods. "Thank you," he says sincerely. 

Clint's done his part. If Steve wants to reach out, he will. In the meantime, though...lunch.

"Are you going to finish that salad or what?" he says, swiftly changing the subject.

Steve looks immensely relieved at the shift. "Someone keeps snacking on the cucumbers."

Clint plucks a slice from the cutting board and pops it in his mouth. "No idea what you're talking about," he says as he chews.

Steve snorts.

"Daddy! We finished setting the table," Cooper declares, peeking into the kitchen.

"Awesome! Will you go get mommy? Lunch is almost ready."

Cooper nods obediently and races back out. Clint hears him shout, "_ MOMMY! LUNCH!" _

He rolls his eyes and smiles.

* * *

Spring has come early this year, so Clint and Steve approach the barn in t-shirts. Clint hands him a bucket of paint, a paint roller, a roll of paint tape, and a stack of sandpaper and points at one of the walls. "First this, then this," he instructs, gesturing first to the sandpaper and then to the paint. "Actually, on second thought, you might want to wipe down the wall after you sand it. I'll grab a few rags."

Steve nods dutifully and gets to work.

Clint returns outside and tosses a couple rags to Steve. He catches them one-handed and then drops them on top of the closed paint can.

"You've got a lot of supplies," Steve observes.

Clint shrugs as he takes up the front wall, sanding away all the potential splinters. "I like to keep busy. Laura's always telling me I have too many projects, but the kids like to help out, and I like to make the house look nicer. I don't think she minds."

"I'm sure she doesn't."

They work in relative silence for almost half an hour. Clint's arm begins to ache from the constant lift-and-rub motion required to sand the wall. He scales the side of the barn until he's on the roof and then drapes himself over the edge and begins to sand from above.

It's been quiet for awhile when Steve says, "You know, everyone thinks Bucky was a bad influence, but I was the reckless one. He was always bailing me outta trouble. Always said I had a, uh, death wish."

Clint keeps absolutely silent and pretends his sole focus is the wall. He finishes sanding one part and moves over a few inches.

"I was a stubborn son of a bitch," Steve admits. Clint bites back several witty remarks: _ was? _ And _ language! _ "But he might've been right. I was already dying from about a dozen diseases. If I'm gonna go down, may as well go down fighting, right?" He sighs. "I was always getting myself into shit. Bucky was the one who would drag me to museums and shows and stuff. He really liked those magazines, the techy ones. And he loved Stark's ideas — Howard, I mean — the night before he was shipped out, he made me come to the Stark Expo. Howard talked about flying cars. You shoulda seen Bucky's face."

Clint bites his tongue and doesn't say anything.

"It's weird," Steve adds. His repetitive motion of sanding and then cleaning off the wall jerks to a stop, and his arm falls to his side. He looks up at Clint. His blue eyes catch the sunlight, and Clint can't help but think Steve must be so, so lonely.

"Feels like a curse," Steve says softly. "I wake up in the future without the one person who'd have loved to have seen it."

His voice cracks. Clint eases himself off the roof and lands in front of Steve.

"No flying cars," Steve says. "But the things they have in 2015...it would've blown his mind."

Clint puts a bracing hand on Steve's shoulder, and Steve looks at him unsteadily, blinking as if only now realizing that everything he's saying is being heard.

"Guess you were right," he says. His eyes shine unnaturally, and he forces a smile. "Therapy might be good."

"We're going to hug now," Clint says seriously.

Steve laughs, brittle. "I'm —"

"If you finish that sentence with 'okay,' I will judo-flip you." And on that note, he pulls Steve into a tight hug.

No room for disagreement. Steve doesn't argue. He's a bit taller than Clint, but not uncomfortably so. And he seems like he really needs a hug.

Clint distantly wonders when the last time someone hugged him was. Not a brief hug in greeting, just a comforting one. He doubts any of the new Avengers are the type — except maybe Sam Wilson. But Steve is too damn hardy for his own good. No doubt he's too busy playing Oh Captain My Captain to let anyone even glimpse the aching person under the mask. 

After a minute, Steve clears his throat and steps back. "I'm not sure I would've pegged you the comforting type," he admits.

Clint spreads his arms. "I'm full of surprises."

Steve ducks his head. "Thank you."

Jesus. Clint's going to adopt Captain fucking America, isn't he. "Steve," he says, "I'm being completely serious when I say this: anytime."

And Steve gives him a smile.

* * *

"It's looking good," Laura says approvingly, bobbing Nathaniel up and down in her arms. "I'm glad you have help. Maybe this project will be finished a little quicker than the last one."

"Hey, the sunroom floor was _ your _idea," Clint says.

Steve snorts. So does Laura. They have a moment of understanding. Clint is not a fan of that. He refuses to allow his wife and former teammate to band together against him.

"Do you like the color?" he asks smoothly.

Laura grins. "Well, it's certainly very _ you. _"

Yeah, well, purple is Clint's thing, what can he say?

"I think it's our color," Clint objects.

"No way," Steve deadpans. "My colors are red, white, and blue."

"Hardy har har." Clint kisses Laura's nose. "What's the 411?"

"Dinner is almost ready," Laura says. "And Steve, Lila really wants to show off her archery skills to you before you go. And Cooper has been itching to get his hands on your shield."

Steve laughs. "Alright. I'll go grab it."

"Nope," Laura says. "Dinner first. Trust me. You don't want to play with a hungry Cooper."

"I think I can handle it," Steve says, but he follows Laura anyway as she turns around and re-enters the house.

_ Smart guy _, Clint thinks as he follows them both.

He turns around and scans once more the newly painted barn. It'll need another coat or two, of course; maybe tomorrow. But it certainly looks nicer. Maybe he can get Lila and Cooper to paint all their names on it, or something cute like that. Something to make it look like home.

He can picture it now: a big, handpainted sign that reads _ Barton Family Guest House. _ Maybe he'll call up Stark to help him with floor plans. It's not huge, of course, but if they use the space right and figure out the plumbing there's probably room for a half-bath and standard bedroom furnishings. Maybe a minifridge?

"Clint," Laura calls out. Clint snaps back to the present.

There are an awful lot of "maybe"s. But Clint's one of the lucky ones. He has quite a few certainties, too.

He steps back inside and turns his back on the barn. The maybes can wait. For now, the absolutes — dinner, Laura, Steve, the kids — are plenty.

**Author's Note:**

> howdy! congrats for finishing the fic! and thank you very much also! you are the real superhero. i can promise there will be at least one more installment in this because i have already written it, and with any luck there will be quite a few more. i'm attached to the storyline now. i want clint to adopt all the avengers. (he _is_ that old.) thank you again for reading it and leave me a comment about what you thought or what you liked or what you were eating while you read it or whatever! go crazy! also i'm on tumblr @[vivilevone](https://vivilevone.tumblr.com) if you wanna hit me up there. bye!


End file.
